


dissolved girl

by andromeda3116



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: F/M, Jessica Jones (TV) Spoilers, Jessica Jones AU, Marvel Defenders AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-10-03 01:43:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10232879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andromeda3116/pseuds/andromeda3116
Summary: Getting even was off the table, getting better even further so, but getting by, she could do. And then the couple had shown up at her door, begging her to find their daughter.[Jyn-Erso-as-Jessica-Jones AU.]





	

**Author's Note:**

> i don’t know, guys. i really. i just. i don’t. with regards to the warnings, it will not be anything more explicit than was in the netflix show – so, if the show was okay with you, this should be okay with you, but if the show was too much, please back away. _there will never be any explicit rape scenes_ , but it’s backstory that still affects the main character, so it’s definitely there and hinted at/alluded strongly to at times. other than that, it's angsty but will have a relatively happy ending, features a lot of alcoholism, some drug abuse, mentions of past-tense suicidal ideation. it’s more optimistic relative to the original because i have strong feelings about angst and how it’s supposed to be, but it’s still pretty dark.

fate, made to fade; passion’s overrated, anyway  
say, say my name; I need a little love to ease the pain  
it’s easy to remember when it came.

‘cause it feels like I’ve been, I’ve been here before; you’re not my savior, but I still don’t go  
it feels like something that I’ve done before; I could fake it, but I’d still want more

.

.

Jyn was a firm believer in getting by.

After the maelstrom of her life, after everything, after… after _him_ – she had found god in whiskey and solace in work, and not a whole hell of a lot else.

But it was enough, more or less, to get from dawn to dusk in one piece, and maybe even make a little money as she did. It wasn’t good, or fun, or warm, and it left her spending unending hours sitting in cramped fire escapes and on freezing-cold roofs snapping pictures of oblivious people having sex with other oblivious people, but it was enough.

People didn’t like what she did – in fact, they often got very, very angry about it, because she was usually showing them evidence of things they had really wanted to believe weren’t true – but they paid her for it, and that was what mattered.

( _She_ didn’t even like what she did; once, she’d had dreams of saving the world and being a hero, but then… well, then he’d come along and wrecked everything including her will to live, so at least she had food to eat and a blanket on a mattress that she could pretend made a bed.)

Getting even was off the table, getting better even further so, but getting by, she could do.

And then the couple showed up at her door, begging her to find their daughter.

.

In retrospect, she should have known it would be a bad day when she woke up, hungover beyond all reason, to the sound of somebody else rummaging around her apartment.

Slowly, she sat up and eased herself out of bed, pulling on the same pair of jeans she’d been wearing for a week now and gently opening her bedroom door.

Office – empty, living room – empty, kitchen –

“Bodhi,” she sighed, running a hand over her face. It was her neighbor, the heroin junkie, lost and confused, again. “ _Wrong apartment_.”

He looked at her fuzzily – high as a kite, pinprick pupils – and then back down at the peanut butter in his hand.

“That’s why it’s not crunchy,” he mumbled, and she pulled him away from her fridge, snatching her peanut butter away from him and marching him toward the door. “You should really get your door fixed,” he slurred.

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind,” she snapped, and shoved him out into the hallway.

The door had been shut for maybe five minutes – long enough for her to clean up and start a pot of coffee – when someone knocked, and she bit back a scream of frustration.

“Bodhi, I swear – “ she started, throwing the door open, but instead of the neighbor, it was an anxious-looking middle-aged couple. “Oh,” she said dumbly. “Sorry. Can I help you?”

“Are… are you Jyn Erso?” the man asked. “Private investigator?”

“Yes, that’s me,” she replied, backing up to let them into what passed for her office.

“We need you to find our daughter,” the woman explained, while her husband muttered over Jyn’s broken door.

The daughter was named Hope, because of course she would be, and wasn’t exactly missing.

“She calls us once a week,” the mother said, taking a seat and wringing her hands. “But she’s – something is wrong. She quit track, she loves track.”

She went on to explain that police had told her that, without any evidence of foul play or Hope being, you know, unaccounted for, they couldn’t exactly open up a missing persons case. But someone at the station – probably Andor, he had a habit of sending her dumb cases – had suggested that they try hiring her.

“Does she have any history of getting in trouble?” she asked, and the mother shook her head.

“No, not Hope,” she said. “She’s always been a lovely child.”

Right. Well, that could mean that Hope was exceptionally boring, or a great liar. “We can go with a standard contract,” she said, pulling open a desk drawer containing three copies of the generic Private Investigator contract she’d downloaded from the internet – which clients were free to look over and suggest changes to, usually regarding confidentiality (or, well, confidentiality was the only place she ever budged on the terms, because she didn’t give a rat’s ass who was entitled to the evidence) – a half-full bottle of Wild Turkey she recalled neither buying nor consuming, and a tube of superglue.

(Her life, condensed into a desk drawer.)

“I charge hourly plus expenses,” she explained, but the mother didn’t even look at the contract.

“Whatever it takes,” she said. “Where do I sign?”

Jyn gave her a tight smile. “Dotted line on the last page. I’ll make you a copy.”

.

“Hey, Detective,” she said, propping her phone up against her shoulder and pouring a glass of whiskey, since, hey, she’d just secured a job and it was five o’clock somewhere over the Atlantic ocean. “What can you give me on that couple from yesterday?”

“You actually _took_ that case?” the detective – real one, NYPD and everything, although why he ever wasted his time with her was a mystery – asked incredulously. “The one with the not-missing-missing daughter?”

“Yeah, well,” she replied. “They’re paying me, so I’ll figure out what she’s up to. No worse than the other shit I’ve taken pictures of.”

“Fair enough,” Andor said, and sighed. “There’s nothing to tell. Kid up at NYU, quit going to school but still calls everyone and keeps in touch. No reason to suspect anything.”

“Must have been _some_ guy,” she muttered, and he gave a short laugh.

“She’s nineteen,” he said. “Without evidence of coercion, there’s nothing any of us can do.”

She flinched involuntarily; a memory, unbidden – she’d escaped from him, for a few moments, called the police, reported herself kidnapped, but then he’d found her and he’d told her to smile and tell the cops that it was just a prank, assure them on no uncertain terms that she was happy and safe. They’d stationed someone to watch for a couple of days after, but left when it became “clear” that she wasn’t being held against her will. No evidence of coercion. No reason to suspect anything.

She closed her eyes tightly. _Birch street_ , she thought to herself, _Higgins Drive_ … (Such bullshit.)

The thought of _he’s super-dead now_ was a lot more comforting.

“Still there?” Andor asked, but he sounded distracted, himself.

“Yeah, sorry, just thinking,” she replied, pouring a second glass, taller this time, and poking ineffectually at her door again. It had been broken for a couple of weeks now, and the superglue was no longer really holding it in place. She almost wanted to pat it and assure it that she understood how it felt. “It’ll make her parents feel better, though.”

“And your bank account.”

“Which, let’s be honest, I care much more about.”

“I’m not sure there’s anything else you do care about, to be honest,” he said mildly, and she heard shuffling on the other side, as though he was going through papers. It stung a little, but, well… he wasn’t wrong. “There’s nothing else I can give you on that case, sorry.”

“It’s fine,” she replied. “I just figured I’d ask.”

“Well, if you find anything illegal, let me know.”

“Depends on what kind of illegal,” she answered, and hung up before he could protest.

They’d become… not really friends, but she’d found it in her best interest to have a contact on the police force, and Andor seemed to always get stuck with the shittiest stake-outs – “They know I’ll complain the least,” he’d explained once, a bit sourly – which, every now and then, put them trailing people in the same block. They’d hung out on a few of them, particularly when it was the dead of winter and stupidly cold, and he had a little battery-powered space heater he kept in his car for nights like that.

She spoke to him maybe three times a month, more if they were working on cases in the same area, which was enough to make him pretty much her closest friend.

Now, at least.

“Right,” she muttered to herself. Hope’s parents had left her with all the information they had on their daughter, including her last known address. It was a place to start, at least.

.

Hope, it turned out, _had_ met somebody.

“It was some guy,” Hope’s (now-ex-)roommate explained. “I don’t even know where she found him, but she just flaked out on me all of a sudden. I mean, I’ve had friends do that before,” she added, with more than a little bitterness, “but I thought Hope was better than that. She didn’t even pay last month’s rent.”

“Do you have a description of the guy?” Jyn asked, and the roommate wrinkled her nose.

“No, I never met him,” she replied. “She swears he’s amazing, but whatever.”

“Her parents never mentioned a guy.”

“Yeah, well, they only talk about track,” the roommate muttered, and shrugged. “Look, case solved. She met a guy. What else do you even need to know?”

“You don’t have any info on him at all?” she probed, raising an eyebrow. “Not even a name?”

“No,” the roommate answered. “She didn’t tell me, and I didn’t ask.”

“Did she leave any of her things behind?” Jyn asked, taking a different angle.

“She told me to sell them to make rent. Made a whole ninety-eight dollars.”

“Any mail?”

“Um,” the roommate mused, standing up and walking over to where a little basket was sitting on a mantle near the door, and shuffling through various envelopes and catalogues. “Yeah, here’s some stuff. Looks like junk.”

She was right, mostly, it was just solicitations and lingerie fliers, but there was also a letter from a bank; could be nothing, could be a card being replaced, could be a full-on bank statement. She pocketed the letter from the bank and considered the “$10 off our specialty Sweetheart Bra!” flyer with some distaste.

It looked… sort of familiar, and not in a good way.

“Thanks for your help,” she said, tossing the flyer back into the basket, and leaving.

.

It was a notice that she’d hit her credit limit. Typical.

But it did give her some account information – enough, when coupled with the information Hope’s parents had left her with, to access the account online.

Her recent transactions told a clear story: expensive lingerie, fancy clothing from designer stores, an apparent makeover or at least a lot of makeup, an extravagant amount of money dropped at a shoe place – Hope was very, very in love, and looking to impress her new boyfriend.

Alternatively, Hope was being conned.

(Same difference.)

“You’re gonna be paying for this spree for a while, friend,” Jyn muttered at all the information, draining her glass and pulling on her coat. “Sucks to be you.”

None of the stores she stopped in could give her anything on the guy – she’d come in alone, or he’d stayed outside, all she got was “older gentleman, well-dressed” but nothing specific or concrete. All of the clerks told her how cheerful and sunny Hope had been, how friendly, likeable. Nothing out of the ordinary at all.

The last transaction was for some sushi joint a few blocks down.

She hesitated – it was midday, the place was probably closed between meals, and her buzz was wearing off hard. But, well… she was already out of the apartment, and she knew on a deep and fundamental level that once she got back into her apartment she would not be leaving for the rest of the night, so… may as well.

The creeping feeling started when she turned a corner and spotted the restaurant.

It… she _remembered_ this place.

“No,” she whispered at the door, as though it could stop being where it was if she willed it hard enough. With a shaking hand, she pulled it open and took a few tentative steps in.

It was decorated differently, but definitely the same building, same atmosphere, same air.

Her chest tightened as she walked in and the maître d’ turned to her, a small smile on his face.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said. “We’re not open for dinner yet.”

“Didn’t this used to be El Rosso?” she asked faintly, and he nodded.

“Yes, we opened about eight months ago,” he replied. “Would you like to make a reserv – “

She cut him off by pulling out the picture of Hope. “Have you seen this girl?”

The man’s smile froze. “May I ask why?”

“I’m a private investigator,” she answered. “I’m trying to track her down.”

“I don’t want anymore trouble – “ he started, shaking his head.

“Anymore?” she repeated, with some urgency. “So she was here?”

“Yes,” he replied tightly. “Last Tuesday.”

“Was she alone?” she bit out.

“I’m not sure I – “

“ _Just tell me what happened_.”

She took a deep breath; her panic was beginning to show in her tone. _Birch street_ , she thought. _Higgins_ –

“Her… companion,” he started delicately, “wanted a particular table in the back.”

 _No_. No, no, no, no.

“There was… a couple already seated there, but… I don’t know, I lost my mind, or something, I asked them to leave and give the table to them.”

No. This wasn’t happening. She had seen the death certificate. He was dead. _He was dead_.

“That’s not possible,” she breathed, and the man made a face.

“What’s _not possible_ is our sommelier comping him a $500 bottle,” he said, leaning forward slightly. She could barely breathe. “And when he wanted his favorite dish from El Rosso, our chef hunted down the recipe from the old chef of…”

He might have kept talking, but Jyn wasn’t sure. She was too busy walking past him and back in time, over a year and a half now, the one-month anniversary.

The table in the back; a small two-top. It had nothing on it but a white tablecloth now, but back then it had been a red one, and there had been flowers and two tapered candles, water goblets and wine glasses, she could see him raising it in her mind’s eye, an expensive red, _to our anniversary_. He had ordered for her, some pasta dish that had tasted like ash to her (although everything did, even by that point) but he had told her that she would love it and so she had eaten every bite and told him how delicious it was.

_Then smile._

And she’d smiled.

“ – can’t imagine why you’d come to an Asian fusion restaurant,” the maître d’ was saying behind her, “to order classic Italian pasta ama– “

“Amatriciana,” she finished for him, breath coming in short, shallow gasps.

“Do you know him?” he asked, as she backed away from the table. “Is he – he’s not coming back, is he?”

Jyn ignored him, and ran out of the restaurant.

She tried to catch her breath when she got to the sidewalk, but it was no easier to breathe outside than it had been in. Everything seemed to be happening from a distance; she grabbed the nearest wall for support but still felt like she was falling through cotton, everything suffocating and static.

“Birch street,” she said aloud. “Higgins Drive. Cobalt Lane.”

It wasn’t helping.

He wasn’t dead.

He – wasn’t dead, and he was sending her a message, a _loud_ message, he’d – he’d taken Hope to arrange all of this, to set it up, to – to –

_Someone at the police station._

She had assumed it was Andor, but –

She pulled out her phone, but her hands were shaking too badly to even unlock it.

“Birch street,” she repeated, taking several deep breath but not feeling like she’d taken in any air. “Higgins Drive…”

She gave up and ran back to her apartment.

It wasn’t until she got back there that she considered stopping for anything, and even that was only two swallows of whiskey, straight from the bottle. It didn’t calm her, but it did ease the shaking in her hands, enough that she could make the phone call she really, really didn’t want to make.

( _Maybe_ , some tiny, stupid part of her whispered, _maybe it’s all a mistake. Maybe it really was Andor. Maybe it wasn’t him at the restaurant._ )

(Yeah, and maybe she was about to turn into a flock of goddamn pigeons and fly away.)

“Come on, come on,” she muttered, taking another swig and leaning heavily on her desk.

“Detective Andor,” he answered finally.

“Cassian!” she gushed, and he was quiet for a second.

“Jyn?” he replied, sounding confused, but she ignored it.

“Cassian, yesterday, when the Schlottmans were there, did you refer them to me?”

“No…” he answered slowly, and her stomach churned. The whiskey had been a mistake. She was going to be sick. “It was an – older man, he was making some bullshit noise complaint.”

She bit her lip until she tasted blood; heat and water pricked at her eyes.

_No._

“What was his name?” she asked, with what she felt was a reasonable facsimile of calm.

“I’m not really supposed to – “

“ _Please_.”

He paused; her calm facade was definitely slipping.

“Hold on,” he said finally, and she heard him setting the phone down instead of on hold, and in the few moments of silence, she swallowed another pull of whiskey. She was gonna be sick anyway, so fuck it. It was worth it for the half-second of calm it would give her right now. “Looks like it was…” Cassian said, and she heard papers rustling.

In spite of herself, she held her breath, clamping a hand over her mouth… maybe a little bit of foolish hope still left over, because there always had to be something else you could lose.

“Krennic,” he said, and it hit her like a bullet, with actual force to her gut. “Orson Krennic.” After couple seconds of silence, he spoke again. “Jyn? What’s going on?” he asked, and he sounded – concerned, worried. “Who is he?”

She choked back a silent sob. “I have to go,” she said in a rush, and barely managed to hang up and throw her phone onto the couch before vomiting all over her desk.

It was ten minutes before she could control herself enough to stumble to the kitchen for paper towels and a bottle of water.

All right.

Okay.

There were two options: play his game and get Hope to safety, or get the _fuck_ out of dodge.

She knew what Jyn-before would have done, but – Jyn-before was the same Jyn that had fallen in with him in the first place, because Jyn-before had no idea that people like him even existed, people who could control you with a word.

_Sorry, Hope. Better you than me._

(Not really. Better he be dead than anything else, but – how was he not dead? She’d watched him get hit by a bus! She had seen the death certificate! He – why was he back now, why, hadn’t – hadn’t she suffered _enough?_ )

At least Andor hadn’t called back. Probably figured it wasn’t worth his time.

The airport picked up on the second ring. “Hi, I need a flight to – “ somewhere far, far away, where she could disappear “ – Sydney. One way.”

“All right,” the receptionist said. “We have one leaving in three hours. It’ll be $1,704.”

“Great, I’ll take it,” she replied, pulling up Hope’s account information with shaking hands. “Can I pay over the phone?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the receptionist replied, and she gave her Hope’s credit card number, but – “I’m sorry, that card was declined.”

Fuck. Fuck, she _knew_ that, she knew it was at its limit.

_Get a hold of yourself._

“Can you – can you hold the ticket for me?” she asked.

“We don’t hold tickets, ma’am,” the receptionist said. “But there are still several seats available, and it’s unlikely to fill up.”

“Wonderful, I’ll be there in – an hour.”

Great. She had one hour – really, more like half of one, considering traffic – to come up with seventeen hundred dollars. There was only one person she knew who might have that kind of cash laying around, but she hadn’t spoken to her in… months, many months, ever since she’d quit therapy.

Fuck it. It didn’t matter how many bridges she burned, if it got her out of the country before Krennic could get his hands on her ever again.

She grabbed her coat and shoved her arms into it with force, wrapping a scarf like a noose around her neck and all-but running out the door and out of the complex, and – almost right into Detective Andor.

“Jyn, what the hell is going on?” he snapped, and she swallowed hard to compose herself.

In retrospect, she should have taken it as suspicious when he didn’t call back.

“Detective,” she replied shortly.

“Oh, it’s “detective” now?” he countered, which confused her for a second, but – right, she had, in her panic, called him by his first name, which was something she didn’t do, a relationship they didn’t have. That explained his immediate confusion, and concern.

“Look, I’m sorry, but I’m kind of on the clock here,” she said, shoving her hands into her pockets and clutching her phone with enough force to crack the screen. Fuck. She pulled that hand back out of her pocket and ran it through her hair.

“Who is this guy?” he asked. She clenched her jaw.

“What did your background check tell you?” she said in something approaching a snarl, as close to a _why don’t you figure it out for yourself_ as she dared push with a cop, even one who was tentatively a friend. But –

“Nothing,” he replied, matching her nasty tone. “Somebody’s erased everything on him.”

She swallowed hard again. Definitely did not need to be sick again, definitely going to be soon. There wasn’t anything but water in her stomach to come back up, but it was churning in her like 151.

Of course there was nothing on the background check. He’d been planning this for a long time.

Andor seemed to read something on her face, but then, she wasn’t doing a bang-up job of hiding her emotions right now.

“Is he – is he stalking you?” he suggested, taking a step closer; involuntarily – although Andor had never, as far as she could remember, touched her at all, let alone when she hadn’t wanted him to – she took a step back. “Jyn, listen, we can have a restraining order signed tonight. Let me help you.”

She swallowed again, shook her head. “Restraining order’s not gonna help,” she replied thickly, backing away from him. He looked confused, and a little bit offended. “Look, just – don’t worry about it, all right? Forget this happened.”

“Are you _insane?_ ” he asked, incredulous. “You called me in a panic, you’re clearly scared out of your mind, you’re saying a restraining order won’t help, and you think I’m just gonna forget about this?”

“Yeah,” she snapped. “Yeah, you are. You’re gonna drop this. Walk away.”

She didn’t wait for him to respond before turning, and – again, it seemed to be the theme of the day – running away. He called out her name as she left, but she didn’t look back.

.

Leia was certain that if she rolled her eyes any harder, they would actually come out of her skull.

“Our audience prefers lighter topics,” the publicist was explaining. “Politics are heavy. Bringing Senator Mothma onto your show sends a very specific message, and opens us up to criticism regarding bias. We’re supposed to be objective.”

“Okay, first off,” she countered, holding up a hand, “there is no objectivity when we’re discussing basic human rights. There’s no “two sides to the story”, there’s one side that thinks homosexuality is devil worship, and then there’s the side with actual facts and evidence. I do not need to give a neo-Nazi’s opinion on the Holocaust to be objective. Second,” she went on, stepping back from the counter and crossing her arms, “I want to meet Senator Mothma. Period.”

“And I want to meet Max Rebo,” he countered sourly. “But we didn’t bring him on the show.”

“You tried,” she snapped. “He said no.”

He made a noise of protest and opened his mouth to counter, but Leia spotted movement at the window, and…

“Look,” she said, a bit awkwardly, “it’s getting late. We’ll discuss this in the morning.”

She ushered him out the door with probably more haste than necessary, and took a deep breath to center herself before opening the French door to the balcony.

“Six months, Jyn,” she said softly, and her foster sister – once-best-friend – winced. She looked… rough. Like she hadn’t been eating enough, and probably drinking too much. Leia wanted to bundle her up into a blanket and keep her safe, but Jyn had shut her out and hadn’t contacted her in half a year. “What’s going on?”

Jyn took a shaky breath and ran a hand through her hair. “I need money,” she said thickly, and Leia’s heart sank.

It probably had been too much to hope for, that Jyn might have wanted to rebuild.

But still, even if Jyn didn’t care anymore, _Leia_ still considered them sisters.

“For what?” she asked. Jyn hesitated and swallowed hard.

“He’s back,” she breathed, and Leia sighed.

“Jyn, he’s dead,” she replied. “We looked up his death certificate. This is just your PTSD talking, if you’ll let – “

“It’s not PTSD!” Jyn cried. “He took – he has another girl, he’s sending me a message.”

“Why do you think that?” she asked in a measured tone.

Jyn ran another hand through her hair. She looked like she was about to be sick. “He went to the police station yesterday and sent the girl’s parents to me. I called them, one of – one of the detectives, he… he told me who sent them. He had his name.”

“Oh, my god…” Leia muttered, covering her mouth and taking a deep breath. Krennic… this couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t really – he _couldn’t_ be back.

“I need to get away,” Jyn choked. “Tonight.”

Leia looked up.

“You’d leave that girl with him?” she asked slowly, a bit horrified and a bit sympathetic – the Jyn that she had known, grown up with, considered a sister… Jyn _never_ would have left someone in that hell. Her sister would have gone back for the girl he took.

Granted, she’d said all along that Krennic had killed her.

But… Leia had never _believed_ her. Leia had always believed that Jyn was stronger than that, than – than _this,_ that Jyn would overcome this, too, even if she didn’t feel like she was capable of it. Leia had never, _ever_ doubted her.

“Jyn, you are the only person who has _any_ idea what this guy is capable of,” she insisted, taking a half-step forward but stopping when Jyn backed away. “You’re the _only_ person who can do anything for her.”

“I can’t do jack _shit_ for her!” she snapped, voice breaking. “I barely got away, myself!”

“You know what he’s doing!” Leia countered. “You can be on her side, you can help her get away. You… what would you have done, Jyn,” she went on slowly, tears pricking at her eyes, “to have someone save you, then? Someone who knew, someone who could help you? You can _save_ her, Jyn. She doesn’t have to suffer like you did.”

Jyn flinched and looked away, shaking her head, eyes wet, and was quiet for a long moment, before: “I have to get _away_ ,” she whispered haltingly, and Leia let out a long, slow breath.

At the end of the day, they were sisters, and Leia would do anything for her sister.

“I’ll get your money.”

.

It was the look on Leia’s face, like she had just watched Jyn die in front of her.

Jyn was always too transparent to Leia, always too vulnerable, too _known_ – it was one of the reasons she’d cut off contact, because Leia had so much goddamn _faith_ in her that it was exhausting, and all she wanted to do was self-destruct.

_You’d leave that girl with him?_

The Jyn that Leia knew would never, never, never leave someone behind like that, and although there was definitely a part of her that felt grim satisfaction at finally – _finally_ – breaking Leia’s faith in her, it… was a sour victory, at best.

_What would you have done, to have someone save you, then? You can save her._

_Yeah, okay_ , she had wanted to scream at her, _but at what cost? My own sanity? My own safety?_

One month… if he had done the same thing for their one-month anniversary that he had done with Jyn, it… god, she knew what that meant; she could have scrubbed every inch of herself raw and never felt clean, and, in fact, almost had.

Leia’s two thousand dollars, in an envelope in her hand, her ticket to safety, and… what would he do, she wondered distantly, when Jyn didn’t take his bait?

What would he do to Hope, if she ran?

She pictured it in her mind: going to the airport, getting a ticket to Sydney. Flying over, sleeping on the plane. Landing, going through customs, throwing away her phone to stop the worried calls from the Schlottmans, finding a place to stay and working out the headache of a visa. Getting a new license to investigate, somehow. Starting over, ten thousand miles away.

But what if he followed her?

And what would happen to Hope?

The least she could do – the very absolute goddamn least – was return the girl to her parents before she left. She could do that. At least then, when Krennic discovered that she was out of the country, Hope wouldn’t be in range.

She took a deep breath.

“I need to make a stop uptown,” she told the cabbie. “Fifty-ninth and fifth.”

.

“Miss Erso!” the doorman said happily when she stepped out of the cab. “I _thought_ that was you! Will you be staying with us again?”

She swallowed hard and shook her head, but couldn’t make herself say anything. He opened the door and ushered her in.

She had literally had this nightmare.

So many times over the past fifteen months since she’d watched him get hit by a bus, she’d walked this same path, these same steps, pressed this same button in this same elevator. She’d walked down this same hall, to that room, to that bed.

Each step felt like walking through molasses, the air thick and cloying with awful memory.

The fire alarm would automatically unlock all the doors; he’d never given her a key, and even if he had, she would have burned it by now, along with everything of hers he’d ever touched, short of her own skin.

She pulled it and it went off high and shrilly, echoing in her head, and she waited for a moment, just – just to _see_. If he was there, he would step out and check the halls.

(What would she do, if he stepped out of the room and stood in front of her?)

A few people poked their heads out of their doors, walked out in confusion, began milling toward the stairs. If there had been a real fire, they’d all be dead.

The door she was watching stayed closed.

So. He wasn’t there.

Her hands shook as she opened the door.

It was all hauntingly familiar, an honest-to-god nightmare brought to life. The same foyer, with the same shitty generic art. The same living room, the same couch in a “tasteful” beige. The same fake plants in the corner. The same window with the same view of the city. The same television mounted to the wall. The same coffee table with the same books. The same rug.

She turned a corner to the dining room – the same table, the same chairs, the same candlesticks and the same centerpiece, the same chargers and plates set for two – and steeled herself.

The bedroom door was ajar, and a light was on.

It took her a moment of standing at the frame before she could push the door open.

Same bed. Same sheets. Same duvet. Same lamp. Same rug. Same chaise lounge. Same – everything the goddamn same, except –

Hope was on the bed, wearing a skimpy negligee, lying flat on her back and staring at the clock. The bed smelled strongly of urine.

“How long ago did he leave?” Jyn asked in a low voice.

“Seven hours and forty-two minutes,” Hope replied, devoid of emotion.

“Okay,” she said, pulling out her phone and starting to throw Hope’s things into a bag on the lounge. “We need to get you out of here. Get dressed.”

“I can’t,” Hope said, but Jyn ignored her and dialed.

“Miss Erso,” the voice on the other end said.

“Mr. Schlottman, I found Hope,” she told him.

“Is that my dad?” Hope asked from the bed.

“You have to get her away from here, okay?” she said, ignoring Hope and stuffing the bag full of clothes. “Check out of your hotel, meet me in my office.”

“What’s going on?” Hope’s father asked, and Jyn clenched her jaw.

“Just do what I told you,” she snapped. “We’ll meet you there.”

She hung up sharply, and turned to Hope, still sprawled out on the bed, looking at the clock. “Get up!” she snarled. “We need to go!”

 _Before he gets back_ , she thought to herself, a little desperately. _I don’t think I can handle being in the same room with him again_.

“I _can’t_ ,” Hope repeated, and Jyn froze.

Of course.

“He told you not to move, didn’t he?” she asked quietly.

Hope sniffed. “I wet the bed,” she choked, and Jyn closed her eyes, bit her lip. This was about to get… unpleasant.

“Okay,” she said quietly. “Okay.”

Jyn grabbed a coat that she presumed was Hope’s – she’d seen it in pictures of her – and forcibly wrenched Hope up out of the bed.

“No!” Hope cried, fighting against her, but Jyn ignored her protests and shoved her arms into the coat. “No! I can’t leave!”

“Yes, you can,” Jyn said softly, unable to find any energy in herself to be upset anymore. It was all so goddamn _familiar,_  so goddamn horrible that she didn’t even know how to start processing it. “You can. Come on.”

“ _No!_ ” Hope snarled, fighting away from Jyn and crawling back onto the bed. Jyn growled and grabbed her by the waist, lifting her bodily over her shoulder in a fireman’s hold. “ _No!_ No! I can’t leave, _I can’t leave!_ ”

Jyn ignored her protests and struggling, but they still fought more than a bit on the way out, Hope grabbing onto the doorframe and then a table and then a lamp – and then she hit her head on another doorway and knocked herself out. It would only buy Jyn a few minutes, but that was all she needed. With her free hand, she pulled out her phone again and dialed a cab.

Hope woke up on the sidewalk, and Jyn set her down gently; she stood still next to Jyn – taller, but in some ways so much smaller – barefoot and shivering.

“My parents are here?” she asked in a tiny voice.

“Yeah,” Jyn replied. “Yeah, they’re gonna take you back home.”

Hope took a deep, shuddering breath, but the cab showed up before she could say anything else, and Jyn ushered her into it and crawled in behind her, giving her address to the cabbie and wishing desperately for a drink.

“How did you know where to find me?” Hope asked, in that same small, traumatized voice. Jyn knew it too well.

“Long story,” she answered tightly. “You’ll be fine.”

“No, I won’t,” she breathed, and Jyn glanced at her in sympathy. She couldn’t find it in herself to lie to her again.

“Your parents are gonna take you back home,” she said instead. “They’ll take care of you.”

That, at least, was true. Whether or not Hope would be willing to accept their help was another thing entirely.

(She thought of Leia, of the brief hope in her eyes when she’d spotted Jyn on the balcony. But then, Hope wasn’t with Krennic for as long. Maybe her scars would heal cleaner than Jyn’s.)

Hope didn’t protest as Jyn led her up into her apartment and sat her down on the couch. She had the same thousand-yard-stare that Jyn herself had worn fifteen months ago – the _I’m free but I don’t know who I am anymore_ look on her face that would take a long, long time to go away. At a loss for what to do, she fell back on what Leia had done for her, when she’d shown up at her door with that expression and story, and microwaved some water and made Hope a cup of tea.

She took it gratefully, in shaking hands, and took a sip. It was chamomile, so it was supposed to be relaxing. Jyn couldn’t really remember if it had helped or not, but the intent behind it had definitely been important to her at the time.

“His control,” she started slowly, throwing things into an overnight bag, “it… wears off. But it takes time and distance. So we are _both_ getting out of here.”

“He…” Hope said, in a strange, distant voice, “made me… _do_ things. That I didn’t wanna do.” Jyn glanced at her, and saw the tears falling down on her face, vacant eyes. “I didn’t wanna – I… I _wanted_ to – “

Jyn took a deep breath and sat down across from her. “What street did you live on when you were growing up?” she asked, because the therapist had sworn it would help, and even if Jyn felt like it was 100% bullshit, maybe it could help Hope. “Picture the sign.”

Hope paused, looking a bit confused, but then she took a deep breath. “Harrison,” she said finally. “Harrison street.”

“And the next block?”

“Florence?” she replied, almost like a question, but she did seem calmer, or at least more _present._

“Listen to me,” she said, clenching her jaw against powerful emotion, powerful fear. “None of it is your fault.”

Hope choked back a sob and took another sip of the tea, looking like she was on the verge of hyperventilating. “You don’t know.”

“I _know_ ,” Jyn said, with feeling. “ _Trust me,_ I know. None of it was your fault. I want you to say it: it’s not my fault.”

“It’s not my… It’s not my fault,” Hope breathed, but it didn’t seem to have an effect. Jyn gave her an encouraging smile.

“That’s good, you’re doing great.”

“It’s not my fault,” Hope repeated, taking another deep breath. “It’s not – “

The door opened then, and her parents walked in.

“Hope!” her mother cried, at the same time that her father sobbed, “My little girl!”

 _No_ , Jyn thought, _not really. Not anymore._

Krennic poisoned everything he touched; she’d never be the same little girl anymore, but at least she was back with them and could start healing.

“Thank you!” Hope’s mother gushed, as she and her husband pulled Hope into their arms. “Thank you so much.”

Jyn shook her head. “It’s… it’s fine. Just take her back home, keep her safe. The… The man who took her, he escaped. Get her back to Omaha, that’s all that matters.”

“We will,” Hope’s father said, guiding Hope toward the door, his arm wrapped around her. “We can’t thank you enough.”

Hope stopped, pulled away from her parents, and came back to hug Jyn, who stiffened at the touch.

“Thank you,” Hope said softly. “You saved my life.”

Jyn tried not to flinch, but managed to pat Hope on the back a couple of times before she pulled away again. “Hey,” Jyn said quietly, while Hope was still close, “don’t forget what I said, okay? It’s not your fault. None of it was.”

Hope sniffed, and nodded, blinking back tears, and Jyn pushed her gently toward her parents.

“Go,” she said, waving them off. “I’m right behind you.”

They wrapped her in their arms and ushered her out the door, down the hall, and Jyn glanced around her apartment to see if she’d missed anything, but… no. She pretty much had all that she cared about. If she left now, she could still make it on the flight to Sydney, assuming the receptionist had been right about it not filling up.

She took a deep breath and walked out the door; Hope and her parents were just getting into the elevator at the end of the hall. There was no point in locking up – the door was broken anyhow – but she made sure to shut it tightly all the same. She’d call the landlord when she touched down in Sydney and authorize them to take the next month’s rent out of her account, as an apology for leaving on such short notice.

Right before the elevator doors closed, Hope looked up at her, smiled, and pulled a revolver out of her bag.

Every cell in Jyn’s body turned to lead.

“ _No!_ ” she shouted, but the doors shut. She threw herself into the stairwell, taking the steps two at a time, but she was still close enough to hear the gunshots – one, and then a second, and then two more in quick succession, then a pause, then a fifth, and a sixth.

No, no, no, no –

She got to the ground floor before the elevator doors opened, and when they did, Hope’s parents – three shots a piece, fatal – fell out into the lobby. Hope was still pulling the trigger, empty, barrel clicking, staring blank-eyed at her father’s body. She looked up, that same robotic expression on her face, and said, “Smile,” before his control was finally, _finally_ gone from her, and her eyes widened as she began screaming.

Jyn couldn’t breathe.

She should have seen this coming.

She should have known that it couldn’t be that easy.

Hope collapsed to the floor of the elevator, screaming and crying, over and over, “No, no, no, no!” and Jyn backed out of the complex, staggered into the street, trying to choke in a breath.

The thing about being an investigator was, she had learned how people reacted to learning uncomfortable truths: either you continued to deny it, lashing out at the person with the evidence, or you did something about it.

Krennic was back. He’d taken Hope to get to Jyn, and had Hope kill her parents in order to eliminate her, leaving his way to Jyn clear. This was true, whether she wanted to deal with it or not.

So, which one was she gonna be?

Either deny it or do something about it.

_You are the only person who has any idea what this guy is capable of. You’re the only one who can help her._

“Hey,” a cabbie said, pulling up to a stop in front of her, “where’re you headed?”

_You saved my life._

_Smile._

Jyn took a deep breath, closed her eyes, turned around, and walked back into the complex.

.

They got the call from Jyn’s apartment complex, a double homicide, but, according to Draven, it was open and shut, the daughter had been caught both by witnesses and on-camera with the gun in hand, still pulling the trigger on her parents.

The name caught his attention before the location did – Schlottman, the couple that had shown up looking for their daughter, the case Jyn had taken before that guy’s name had come up and she’d shut down.

Something didn’t add up, and Cassian had been trained, by strong superiors in both the NYPD and the military before that, to dig where he saw fresh earth. And he’d been digging all night.

Jyn was sitting, looking irritated rather than the panicked expression she’d had when he last saw her, in the interrogation room when he walked in.

“Are you even _allowed_ to interrogate your friends?” she asked, and he raised an eyebrow, setting down his file and taking the seat opposite her.

“ _Are_ we friends?” he countered, because he was still kind of sore from the way she’d acted earlier. If he had not seen and heard her then – ghost-white, looking like she’d been sick recently, wild-eyed, voice reeking of panic – he would not think she was any different now than all the times he’d seen her before.

But he _had_ seen her then.

He leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. “Who is Orson Krennic?” he asked, and she gave no indication of recognition.

“I don’t have to answer that.”

He let out a deep breath. “It _is_ actually relevant to the case,” he said, opening the file and pulling out a picture from a security camera, of Hope with the man who had been in the precinct yesterday. “His name also showed up on the penthouse suite, as a guest.”

“I thought this case was open and shut, that’s what Draven said.”

She sounded so… empty. Drained-out. It set his teeth on-edge. This wasn’t the Jyn he knew.

“I can’t get a hold on motive,” he admitted. “Why would Hope Schlottman kill her parents? And, since you’re the current reigning expert on Hope Schlottman…”

“Oh, am I?”

“Yes,” he replied, with some irritation. “You’re the one who found her, brought her back to her parents. How did you manage that?”

“I’m good at my job,” she snapped back, uncharacteristically nasty. Jyn usually wasn’t this hostile with him – usually, they had the sort of easy camaraderie that had half the department assuming they were dating. He was definitely missing some huge piece of this puzzle. “You’ve never asked me to divulge my methods before.”

“That was before we ran into Orson Krennic,” he said evenly, and made a mental note of the way her jaw clenched. She still had not looked at the picture. “The name showed up in connection to this case, and he’s clearly someone you know. If you can help us at all – “

“I can’t,” she barked. “Am I being charged with anything?”

“I don’t get it,” he growled, leaning forward. “You’re clearly terrified of this guy, but you’re protecting him?”

“ _I am not protecting him_ ,” she snarled, leaning in with open hostility, looking truly angry, angrier than he’d ever seen her.

“Then tell me who he is,” Cassian articulated, grinding his back teeth together. She had the look of a cornered animal, and suddenly he felt bad for her. He really wasn’t _trying_ to antagonize her. “Jyn, if he’s… _threatened_ you, I can help you. You don’t have to prove anything, and you don’t have to press charges,” he went on in a low, imploring voice; he’d guessed, from the way she’d acted before, that she was a rape victim – he’d been in this business too long not to recognize the signs – and everything he’d seen tonight pointed to Orson Krennic being the perpetrator.

He understood why she might not be interested in pressing charges, or going to trial, since he’d seen it go wrong for too many people, but he _didn’t_ understand why she wasn’t willing to go forward with at least a restraining order. Why she wouldn’t let the police – let _him_ – help her, when he felt like he’d been very clear that he was on her side.

Judging from her closed-off expression, she’d read between the lines of his words, realized that he’d figured her out. But – for fuck’s sake, he was a major crimes detective, it was his fucking _job_ to figure this kind of thing out, and if she thought she’d been subtle, then she was deeply mistaken.

“I told you,” she said in a low, taut voice, “a restraining order won’t help.”

“Why not?” he replied, matching her tone. “He’s at-large, Jyn,” he added sharply. “Who will be the next Hope?”

He was stepping out on a limb – this really didn’t have anything concrete to do with the murder, and short of some science-fiction bullshit, there was no way to adequately connect it – but Krennic had come to the precinct and sent Hope’s parents to Jyn, when he knew good and goddamn well where to find Hope. He was clearly playing some kind of game, and Jyn was part of it, whether she liked it or not.

And if Jyn was a part of this, that meant that she was in danger, and Cassian – God help him – cared about Jyn. He didn’t care about a whole lot of people, but he liked her, liked spending time with her, and didn’t like seeing her so distressed. She seemed utterly uninterested in him, which was… fine, but he wasn’t going to stand aside and let her get hurt if there was some way he could help her, all the same.

“There’s not gonna be another Hope,” Jyn said quietly.

“How can you be sure?”

“ _Trust me_ ,” she hissed, and he took a deep breath, praying for patience.

“You tell me you’re not protecting him, but you’re doing a damn good job of it,” he snapped, and she finally had had enough, standing sharply.

“I am not protecting him,” she snarled, shouldering her bag with force. “I’m protecting _you_.”

With that – and without any further fucking explanation – she stormed out and slammed the door behind her.

 

 

 

 


End file.
